


missing, unattainable, returned.

by yakyuu_yarou



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Self-Harm, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 07:55:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20579096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yakyuu_yarou/pseuds/yakyuu_yarou
Summary: Before Vergil impales himself on the Yamato and splits human from demon, he takes a moment to think.This is that moment.





	missing, unattainable, returned.

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks to [@laireshi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laireshi/works) for making my mind home in on this and refusing to let it go until i wrote something. a very small something.
> 
> enjoy 💙

He cannot help looking at the painting, once he‘s there.

He looks at it, longer and harder than he intends to when he lifts his head—a motion that requires too much effort, too much thought—, at a snapshot of a happy time. Not happ_ier_, a part of his brain that he knows won‘t be there for much longer insists, just _ happy._ He sneers at it, too weakened to stop his lips from twisting and his teeth from baring as he has so many times before.

Too late, he looks away again.

The part of him that will be gone soon—or the one that will stay, he can‘t tell—drags his thoughts back to the boy who is now short an arm, wondering almost-but-not-quite idly if he‘s dead by now. He probably is, he decides, because what he took back from him was more than just an arm. Or perhaps the boy is stronger than he seemed. Perhaps he‘s still alive, possibly even conscious. Perhaps he will remain to experience an _ after_, will come to know how it feels to have a part of himself missing, unattainable, in the hands of someone else—

It doesn‘t matter, either way.

His fingers tighten around her tsuba for the time it takes him to draw a breath and let it out again—too long, the maybe-gone-maybe-not part of his mind supplies—, and then he relaxes them, slowly, consciously.

He draws the Yamato, and like it did in the garage with a boy‘s icy eyes on his back, his heartbeat lurches, once, and then settles back into the pace he knows it belongs in. His pulse settles, and he feels it through the blade, feels her gentle hum wrap around his tattered soul with a comfort that would make him cry, were he anyone but himself.

Vergil raises the Yamato, and Vergil impales himself.


End file.
